He was of that lower secretarial type who at forty have engraved upon their business cards: "Assistant to the President," and without a sigh consecrate the rest of their lives to second-hand mannerisms.
"Going far ?" asked the smaller man in a pleasant disinterested way.
"Quite a stretch." "Hiking for exercise ?" "No," responded Amory succinctly, "I'm walking because I can't afford to ride." "Oh." Then again: "Are you looking for work?
Because there's lots of work," he continued rather testily.

"All this talk of lack of work.

The West is especially short of labor." He expressed the West with a sweeping, lateral gesture.
Amory nodded politely.
"Have you a trade ?" No--Amory had no trade.
"Clerk, eh ?" No--Amory was not a clerk.
"Whatever your line is," said the little man, seeming to agree wisely with something Amory had said, "now is the time of opportunity and business openings." He glanced again toward the big man, as a lawyer grilling a witness glances involuntarily at the jury.
Amory decided that he must say something and for the life of him could think of only one thing to say.
"Of course I want a great lot of money--" The little man laughed mirthlessly but conscientiously.
"That's what every one wants nowadays, but they don't want to work for it." "A very natural, healthy desire.

Almost all normal people want to be rich without great effort--except the financiers in problem plays, who want to 'crash their way through.' Don't you want easy money ?" "Of course not," said the secretary indignantly.
"But," continued Amory disregarding him, "being very poor at present I am contemplating socialism as possibly my forte." Both men glanced at him curiously.
"These bomb throwers--" The little man ceased as words lurched ponderously from the big man's chest.
"If I thought you were a bomb thrower I'd run you over to the Newark jail.

That's what I think of Socialists." Amory laughed.
"What are you," asked the big man, "one of these parlor Bolsheviks, one of these idealists?
I must say I fail to see the difference.
The idealists loaf around and write the stuff that stirs up the poor immigrants." "Well," said Amory, "if being an idealist is both safe and lucrative, I might try it." "What's your difficulty?
Lost your job ?" "Not exactly, but--well, call it that." "What was it ?" "Writing copy for an advertising agency." "Lots of money in advertising." Amory smiled discreetly.
"Oh, I'll admit there's money in it eventually.